There’s something about justifying fatigue when you do not work in a field. When the bulk of your work calls for you to just… sit. Not just sit and be, but still, just sitting.
And yet, that is where I presently find myself.
A deep-seated tiredness that can only be defined as emptiness. The bits of me that tended to laugh hard and deep have turned into a hollow thing.
The things that ought to bring me joy haven’t gone sour, they have turned black & white. How can your taste feeling in a world devoid of colour?
Being tired is a like a song.
However attention grabbing it might have been at the start, however hard it rocked your soul and saw your hips sway… eventually, you get tired of hearing that song on the Kiss 100, 6 times a day.
It grows old.
So when it plays at your favourite club on a Wednesday, you don’t pause mid conversation to remind your friends ‘that’s my song’. You instead punctuate your sentence with a lift of your glass to your lips, the volume increases as the your drink touches the floor of your mouth. The song might as well be the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s there to stay but you might never get to it.
Like, wah, umechoka? Sasa utado?
Inasound hectic. Inasound kama burnout…
Might be time to rest, but first… it’s time to sit, not just sit, and tick off a few things.